


Thistles

by krisherdown



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-14
Updated: 2008-02-14
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krisherdown/pseuds/krisherdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy Roddick is hungover, Mirka and Roger are cryptic, and Andy Murray is kidnapping during his brother's Wimbledon final.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thistles

**Author's Note:**

> Follow-up to [Earning It](http://krisherdown.livejournal.com/10084.html) \- though not essential to read to get what happened. Takes place on the last day of Wimbledon 2007.

You hear the ring vibrating through the room. Somewhere under the junk is your cell phone but you be damned if you had any sense of what section of the junk it's located. Jimmy told you after your loss that he would let you off the hook for any non-training that occurred before the flight out Monday afternoon, as long as it didn't involve bail money.

You'd taken that to heart, as you're pretty sure Saturday's a distant memory. A very distant memory, fogged with alcohol. The ringing stops, you just realizing it was coming from the room next door.

You trudge through the strewn clothes to the door to get the newspaper sitting outside the door. You're not surprised to see on the front page that Roger and Rafa won their semifinal matches and they're having another showdown. You realize that likely would have happened even if you hadn't blown your chance against Gasquet.

At the end of the hallway you hear a loud cheer. You quickly retreat back to the room with the newspaper, not wanting to know which side they were cheering on.

You're happy for Roger, as you're sure this will be another achievement to add to his growing "record" collection. He's chasing ghosts of the past while you're stuck chasing his ghost. You've drank out the resentment of not being in that semifinal match, which means that you're probably less of a pain in the ass now than you were the last two nights. Feel sorry for whoever was around that.

You wonder what you missed. You're sure there were phone calls from the family. There was likely a visit from Mike and Bob as they were still in doubles; the others of the crew long out of the country after early exits. Hopefully you dodged drunk dialing Roger because that would be truly pathetic.

You drop on the bed with a thud, sure that your luck can't be that good.

* * * * *

It's a few hours later before you venture out of the room again. The cheering from before has stopped, meaning at least a winner has been declared.

You trudge down to the lobby and you spot Roger and Mirka, both dressed up for the Champions Dinner. Not a surprise really - he's the Great Roger Federer, after all.

You want to return to the comfort of your room but someone calls out your name and it gets the couple's attention. Mirka waves you over and you reluctantly oblige.

You're sure someone will laugh at how you're in sweats that have seen better years while they're impeccably dressed. You know you would laugh if it weren't so sad.

"Congratulations," you muster.

Roger says, "Thanks," but he's examining you, as if calculating how long you've been back in civilization. It's moments like this that you're glad you two aren't together. You'll forget you hate moments like this the next time you find yourself alone with him.

You're never sure how much Mirka knows when it comes to you and Roger. Probably more than Roger has ever admitted to you. She did catch you two in a hotel room three years ago, though she didn't exactly look shocked. Hell, it didn't even stop their relationship.

Mirka says, "I'm surprised you're still in town."

Roger murmurs, "I'm thinking Andy wanted to enjoy the _culture_." Mirka chuckles at this.

You look from Roger to Mirka, wondering if you should be concerned. You're guessing you didn't drunk-dial after all though this doesn't sound much better.

You try to keep humor in your voice as you say, "The pubs never saw it coming."

Mirka replies, "Don't worry about it. The kid enjoyed your version of culture."

So you _did_ do something stupid! "What kid?"

Roger replies mockingly, "Yeah, sweetie. _What kid_ because it's clear he doesn't remember any meetings other than with Jack Daniels and Jaeger," naming drinks he's seen you with in the past.

"Andy," Mirka says but it doesn't sound like she's chastising you. In fact, her tone downright confuses you because it sounds like she's stating a fact.

"Okay, I know I screwed up but I don't need a lecture. Was it someone connected to Wimbledon or just a local?"

She shakes her head. "No, I mean the kid was Andy. As in Murray."

"You are kidding." You're trying not to show you're upset by this revelation.

Roger, meanwhile, is struggling not to laugh. Usually it's endearing but not this time. "You mean to tell me you don't remember... what's the phrase you Americans use... 'sucking face' with the guy you most wanted to corrupt on the tour?"

"This is not good," you mutter. There should be a law not allowing him to repeat that in front of his girlfriend. Or at least one in which The Great Roger Federer is forbidden from saying the phrase 'sucking face'. "Do you know if he's still in London?"

"He'd better be," she informs you. "The mixed doubles final is going on right now."

You frown, trying to remember why that matters.

Then you hear a familiar brogue in your head: _Jamie is still in mixed doubles. He's got a crush on his doubles partner. Jelena rewards him with kisses._

Fuck. You don't remember the kiss itself but you're now sure of what caused it.

You nod quickly then the lovely couple is told that their ride is out front and you say your goodbyes.

* * * * *

You recall catching Andy at your practice sessions. He claimed it was Brad's idea but he stammered out of it as soon as he remembered that Brad had been your coach first. From then on, you became more aware of his presence. It became clear he wasn't scouting your game; he was scouting _you_.

There was a night when you were with Roger, miles away from Mirka and any outside distractions, and admitted something to the effect of what Roger just said out loud. You were quite drunk and you know Roger also convinced you that night that being tied to the bed would be "fun". You couldn't figure out _why_ you said that about a lanky, fire-haired Scot with a perpetual cloud over his head. You did call him Eeyore shortly after that as a way to not call him by your name, which he did _not_ find charming _(go figure!)_.

You no longer care about your attire as you leave the hotel. Outside of a few cars stopping at the hotel, there's little traffic. It's unlike every other day of the tournament, when there was always life on the streets during reasonable hours.

It doesn't occur to you there's a reason there are no _locals_ either until you hear cheers coming from a pub a block from the hotel. You look in and see a doubles match. Specifically, Andy's brother carrying England's hopes for a Grand Slam title. The match is in the beginning of the third set.

You're suddenly pulled away. Dragged away, all you can see is a flash of a dark-colored sweatshirt. The hood obstructs your view of the face but you're more concerned about the nondescript white van that you're being pushed toward. Then pushed into, your body falling on the back seat before the figure pushes you against the door of the rear driver's seat and gets in as well.

You're about to protest when the hood is lowered and you realize it's Andy. You hear the commentary of the mixed doubles final playing but you didn't figure that out until after the identity was revealed.

"Shouldn't you be there?" pointing upward, even if it makes no sense that you're trying to indicate the radio.

"Where do you think this van is heading?" as if it's the most obvious answer.

" 'Gee, Roddick, I was wondering if you'd be my guest' would have been too much to ask?"

"In front of that pub crowd? I wasn't interested in making the front page. I'm surprised they didn't spot _you_. Those people are tennis _freaks_!" He then gives you a once-over. "Then again, you look like hell rejected you and spat you back here."

"Ahem. Let's start again. Why did you kidnap me?"

"Because British tennis fans are crazy."

You shake your head. "Apparently the players they adopt are as well. Why aren't you at Wimbledon?"

"I can't watch. Too nervous. Difficult enough listening to the TV at the pub from around the corner. But I need to be there in case Jamie and Jelena really do win."

"So _am_ I your guest?"

Noncommittal shrug. "I guess."

"You're aggravating."

"And you're finally sober enough to realize that."

"So do you always evade when answering questions?" When he doesn't reply, you say in exasperation, "I believe I still don't know _why_ I am _in_ this _van_."

"I needed to get you alone."

You cross your arms over your chest. "You mean you're looking for a reward on your brother's behalf?"

"What?" That gets him embarrassed, as if not considering that you'd remember. Even though you don't exactly remember but he doesn't know that. "No, that was stupidity that night. Mirka was waiting for something to happen..."

"Shut up," you say then you yank on the arm of the sweatshirt to draw him closer. "You wanted me alone. No, you 'needed' me alone. Why?"

He scratches at the back of his neck and stares down at his sneakers, forgetting how assured he was when capturing you not a few minutes earlier. "It's not that I 'need' you but... I screwed up. I was hoping you didn't remember but you weren't as drunk as it seemed. I wanted to tell you that. Leave what happened in England to stay in England, or however that expression goes."

You have this sudden need to know what he wants you to forget. "I'm not supposed to know that you're a stalker, a liar and a kidnapper? Too late," then grab his sweatshirt again so your mouths mash together for a kiss. It doesn't last long as you can't resist finishing your thought, "You're also a leech and..."

"A blue donkey that constantly loses its tail."

The van stops and you notice the entrance to the tennis grounds.

He sees the crowd gathered around a monitor, then asks, "Do you mind this trip... ends here? I don't think now is a good time to explain to my mum. Win or lose, today is Jamie's day." He stays silent long enough to hear Jamie and Jelena are up a break in the third set. He tells the driver to return you to the hotel. "You'll still be in town tonight?"

"Flight is tomorrow afternoon."

"I guess I'll have to break into the hotel at some point tonight." He opens the door, then shuts it and lunges at you for a quick kiss as a "goodbye for now" before leaving for real.  



End file.
